Gorgeous and Talented
by EGB Fan
Summary: Garrett goes home for the weekend in time for a rock festival, featuring none other than Venkman's stepson Oscar. But, as ever, there are complications.


_Extreme Ghostbusters: _**Gorgeous and Talented**

Jenna Lannon sat behind the reception desk at the youth hostel, flicking through the A4 leather-bound book in which she had just recorded the last reservation that would be made that week. Three guys and a girl spending two whole nights in the same room – their parents probably completely oblivious to these arrangements. Youth hostels could really be quite extraordinarily seedy places, she thought.

"Mr. Weiss?" Jenna looked up and pulled off her reading glasses as her boss, the hostel's manager James Weiss, strolled past the desk. "We're all booked up for next weekend. There'll be one bed to spare in the whole building."

"Good work, Jenna," Weiss nodded approvingly. "You might as well go home. If there are any more calls I'll deal with them."

"Thank you, Mr. Weiss. Um..." Jenna went on hastily, jumping to her feet as her boss started to walk away. "I know you don't think we can afford it, but I really do think we ought to call the - "

"Ghostbusters?" Weiss interrupted. "It's a waste of money, Jenna. I'm sorry but the answer is still no."

"How can you say a thing like that?" Jenna demanded hotly. "Last year a kid went home with his eyebrows singed off!"

"So?" barked Weiss. "They grew back, didn't they? If we had this problem all the time then of course I'd do something about it. But it's one weekend a year and those damn kids are all out most of the time anyway. Nobody usually gets hurt."

"Usually," Jenna repeated dryly. "And that's as maybe, but someday one of them might get killed. Then we'll be shut down and we really won't have any money."

"Ok, fine – call the Ghostbusters, Jenna," snapped Weiss. "I'll take it out of your salary, shall I?"

"But Mr. Weiss," Jenna started to object; "you know I can't afford - "

"Neither can I," Weiss interrupted. "I refuse to go through this with you every year. Go home, Jenna."

x x x

"All right." Garrett Miller skidded to halt beside the untidy hospital bed and looked expectantly up at its ex-occupant. "Let's see it, then."

Joanna Kendall obligingly stepped away from the suitcase she was packing and sashayed down the length of the ward, catwalk fashion. Garrett laughed when she spun ninety degrees on the pads of her bare toes, turned her head sharply to face him and pouted comically at him from underneath strands of super-straight dark-blond hair.

At twenty-three – two years Garrett's junior – Jo was not conventionally pretty, but she certainly made the best of herself. Garrett liked her a lot, in fact – although the attraction had not been instantaneous. When she was first admitted to the hospital, Jo had not bothered to take care of herself and spent most of the time in tears. But since he'd started working with her, Garrett had managed to produce a charismatic smile on her round face that had stayed longer every day and now seemed pretty much permanent.

She also had big brown eyes and an infectious laugh, both of which Garrett had felt increasingly drawn to. And she'd made a nice figure for herself, he'd noticed, with all that keep-fit activity. Unsurprisingly she had lost a bit of weight during her brief period of depression; but as Garrett watched her now, looking like herself at last in black leggings and a tight khaki tank top, he could almost see the curves springing back into place.

"Good as new," Jo declared happily, moonwalking back towards Garrett and then performing a speedy hundred-and-eighty degree turn when she reached the bed. "You did it."

"We did it," Garrett corrected her, thinking: God, how clichéd. "We're gonna miss you around here, Jo."

"Well, no offence to you guys, but I'm sure as hell not gonna miss this place," Jo grinned ecstatically. "That's not to say I won't miss you, though – my very own personal Christ."

"Christ didn't used to take six months over his miracles," Garrett pointed out.

"Oh well," shrugged Jo. "We got there in the end. But hey, listen: we don't have to never see each other again. My gym membership expired while I was still debilitated. I thought maybe when I come back, instead of renewing it I'd join up at yours."

"Come back from where?" asked Garrett.

"You didn't think I was just going to sit around at home, did you?" Jo smiled crookedly down at him. "I'm going rock climbing."

Garrett stared at her, aghast.

"What?" she demanded.

"You're going rock climbing already?" he asked incredulously. "Are you insane?"

"Aw, lighten up. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Uh... Jo... have you forgotten why you came here in the first place?"

"Ha! That's not going to happen again!" scoffed Jo. "Nobody's unlucky enough to break both of their legs twice. I mean, come on – what are the chances?"

"Slim, I'll admit," Garrett replied. "But just suppose it did happen again. Remember how crushed you were the first time. You got through three different psychologists before I was even allowed to start trying to get you back on your feet. And if it happens again... well, who knows?"

Jo, a dedicated athlete, was not the kind of person to take well to temporary immobility. She just loved running in the park, working out at the gym and occasionally risking her life several feet in the air. Garrett firmly believed that having a paraplegic physiotherapist had been of great help in motivating her to walk again, not least because it made her realise how lucky she actually was. Her legs had worked before and they could work again. And ok, so Garrett didn't let it bother him at all, but the fact remained that his legs were never going to work no matter what. And it wasn't even his own stupid fault for trying to scale a fifty-foot rock face.

"I'll be careful this time, I promise," Jo assured him.

"Is there anything I can say to change your mind?" Garrett pleaded.

"No," Jo replied simply. "Well – not unless you can think of something better for me to do this weekend."

This was Garrett's chance and he leapt on it. "Ooh – I can!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Come home with me!"

Jo cocked a questioning eyebrow.

"Home to Brooklyn, I mean," Garrett went on hastily. "I'm making a trip back this weekend. You like rock music, don't you?"

Jo nodded. She and Garrett had got to know each other quite well over the last six months, and one of the things he had found out was that she liked to jog to such bands as Blink-182 and Sum 41.

"There's an amateur rock concert going on over the weekend," Garrett explained.

"Amateur, huh? Is it any good?"

"Usually. This year a friend of mine's stepson and his band are playing – and they're definitely good. And anyway, it doesn't really matter what the music's like – it's just loads of fun. Everybody stands around in the park drinking Coke and comparing the slogans on their hoodies. It goes on all day and all night and you can come and go as you please – for free, I might add. Most people love it but you always get at least ten old ladies hobbling over to complain – it's hilarious! Come on, you'll love it. I'll even pay for your bus ticket."

"Just so I won't go rock climbing again straightaway?" Jo asked coyly.

"Not just that, no," Garrett smiled at her. "I'd enjoy myself twice as much if you were with me."

"Oh. Well, since you put it like that," Jo smiled back at him. "Sure – why not?"

There, that was easy. Why, Garrett wondered, did almost every one of his friends find this kind of thing so difficult? It was ironic, he supposed, that he was the guy in the wheelchair and yet he had more confidence than pretty much everyone he knew put together.

He wasn't including Dr. Venkman in that, of course. Peter was confident enough. His past romantic faux pas had just resulted from sheer idiocy.

x x x

Five thirty on Wednesday evening. The week was more than halfway to being over. Thank God for that. Perhaps when Oscar came back from Brooklyn with Garrett on Sunday night, he would make up with Dana and this whole fiasco would be forgotten.

Peter Venkman had just finished making up his daughter Jessica's bed. Since he was going to be in LA over the weekend, Dana had insisted that he take his turn changing sheets early. She was out at the moment, and Peter had found himself bored – so he figured he might as well do the task now and get it over with. He wandered out onto the landing with Jessica's Spiderman quilt cover slung over his arm, having just replaced it with bed linen sporting a "Star Wars" motif.

Ok – Oscar's bed next. As Peter dropped Jessica's old bedclothes onto the landing (I'll collect them later, he told himself unconvincingly) and entered his stepson's room, he couldn't help but think that between them his two kids' bedrooms rivalled the audio-visual department at their local K-mart. The DVDs surrounding Jessica's Sony wide screen had to contain every movie made between nineteen-thirty and nineteen-seventy-nine. And the set-up in Oscar's room was remarkably similar: just substitute the DVDs for rock and metal CDs and the TV for the most impressive sound-system imaginable.

"OSCAR!" Peter called down the stairs.

"WHAT?" Oscar shouted back irritably.

Peter pursed his lips in thought. Had Oscar been lying when he said he didn't mind his step-dad being in LA over this all-important weekend? Come to that: was Peter being unreasonable in not letting down the crew of Hollywood yes-men he was supposed to be meeting with? Hmm...

"I'M GOING TO CHANGE YOUR BED, OK?" he yelled down to Oscar.

"OK!"

Oscar had to be used to this little ritual by now. They went through it every other week. Dana never bothered when she was on bed-changing duty – but Peter was very aware that his stepson was sixteen, and there may be things under the mattress that were meant for his eyes only.

"Even I think this place is a tip," Peter muttered to himself, carefully lifting Oscar's treasured electric guitar off the bed. Then he started picking up the various bits of paper strewn across the pillows, glancing briefly at their contents – just to ascertain how careful he had to be with them.

"Her daddy really seems to like me,

And he trusts us to go out and play;

But if he knew the things I wanna do to her

Guess he'd tell me just to stay away..."

Song lyrics, presumably. If Peter allowed those to fall behind an item of furniture or get buried under Oscar's junk, he would be in very serious trouble. He stacked the scribbled-on A4 sheets neatly together and placed them carefully on the windowsill beside the jumbo-sized Avril Lavigne poster: the one surface in the room with space available. Right – what else had that boy been doing with himself since school?

"Weds 19th May -

Math: pg. 14 q.1-20 – due Fri.

History: Essay – 'Describe and evaluate the causes of the Depression' – due Tue."

Peter saw to his satisfaction that there was a small red tick beside the maths assignment. Oscar had obviously been making an effort, which was encouraging. Whether or not he had done a good job was another matter. It wasn't that Peter didn't trust him to have put in the work; it was just that maths was not Oscar's strong point.

So what about the history essay? Peter suspected that Oscar planned to turn it out in half-an-hour late on Monday night – if indeed he planned to do it at all. Maybe it wouldn't take precedence over the other six-odd unfinished homework assignments from that week and the last. But to the kid's credit, at least he had done more work than Peter himself ever did at that age.

The next sheet of paper showed a collection of musical notes that Peter could make neither head nor tail of. He wasn't even sure that he was holding it the right way up until he squinted at a few tiny words scrawled on the page. Evidently Oscar had come home from school, done his maths homework and then composed some music to go with his friend Danny's new song lyrics. Peter stared at his stepson's handiwork; he never ceased to be amazed that Oscar could write gibberish like this and understand it as music, which he could then translate perfectly to his guitar and to his own voice.

Peter changed Oscar's bedclothes; then he went into his own room and changed the sheets on the bed that he shared with Dana. And speaking of Dana – it was her turn to do the laundry. Ha! Peter carried all of the old bed linen downstairs, threw it into the washing basket and then wandered into the sitting room to see whether Oscar had cheered up yet.

Oh dear. He hadn't cheered up – and his little sister wasn't helping matters, it seemed. Oscar was sprawled across the sofa and glaring at Jessica over the top of some magazine or other.

"How can you say that?" Oscar demanded hotly. (Wonder what she said, thought Peter.) "The woman wants me to give up on the band!"

"She doesn't want you to give up," Jessica argued. "She just wants you to do your homework as well."

Oscar shook his head and said disgustedly, "I thought you'd be on my side."

"I'm not taking sides," Jessica returned tartly. "I just don't believe there's not enough time for you to do your homework in between rehearsals and song-writing – or whatever it is you aspiring rock stars do."

"Just you wait until you start high school," Oscar retorted. "Do you have any idea how much work those people expect you to do? They just assume you don't have a life."

"And with some justification," Jessica said bravely. "I mean, you're not doing anything now, are you. You could do some homework before dinner."

Oscar simply stared at his sister with his mouth open as though she had just suggested that he plunge his hand into boiling water. Then – when he was over his apparent shock – he threw down his magazine, leapt off the sofa and marched from the room muttering every curse word he could think of.

"Where are you going?" Peter called after him.

"Out!" Oscar shouted back.

"When will you be back?"

"Later!" and the front door slammed shut.

"Whoa." Peter stared with a look of utter disbelief at where Oscar had been sitting moments before. "That was so weird."

"Oh – didn't we tell you?" Jessica smiled jovially at her father. "He and I had a personality transplant last week."

Peter laughed.

"Yeah," Jessica went on; "now Oscar's a bitch and I've done all my homework."

"Have you?" Peter asked incredulously.

"I have actually," Jessica answered smugly. "I'd rather be playing soccer or watching movies, but I really ought to do it seeing as I haven't got an amateur rock concert to prepare for. Speaking of which..."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I should have known you'd want something. You're never sensible for nothing."

"It's just about this concert of Oscar's this weekend," Jessica said breezily. "The thing is... can I go?"

"What?" Peter asked, stunned.

"Can I go?" Jessica repeated. Then she switched on the grin to which Peter was definitely no stranger and added sweetly, "Please?"

"I know why you're asking me and not your mother," Peter told her dryly.

Jessica feigned innocence. "Do you?"

"Yes. It's because you know she'd say no."

"Well, what do you say?" asked Jessica. "I mean – personally I can't really see any reason why I shouldn't go. Even if Oscar is busy with his friends the whole time, Garrett will still look out for me. I've already done my homework, and if I get more I can easily do it before the weekend. And seeing as you and Mom aren't going to be there, I really think Oscar could use the support."

"I had no idea the ability to manipulate rhetoric was genetic," Peter remarked with a humourless smile. "You're certainly better at it than your brother is."

"So can I go?"

"You'll get me into trouble with your mother, Jessica," Peter said sternly. "We'll discuss it with her when she gets back, ok?"

"And you'll pitch my case?" Jessica asked smilingly.

"Oh... sure," Peter reluctantly agreed.

"Yay!" Jessica squealed excitedly, leaping to her feet and throwing her arms around her father's neck. "Thank you, Daddy!"

"I'm not promising anything. Your mom still might say no, remember."

"Of course she'll say no," Jessica shrugged. "But I never let that bother me."

x x x

Oscar felt like he ought to be head-banging himself dizzy in some over-twenty-ones-only nightclub. Well – wouldn't that seem to fit with the stint of teenage rebellion he suddenly seemed to be going through? Arguably it was a little early for the nightclubs to be in full swing – but surely he could find something slightly more seditious to do than sit on his friend Casey's sofa eating chocolate ice-cream.

"Even Jess," he sighed despairingly, shaking his head in anguish. "This is the first time I've done something they don't like and they're all really laying into me – even my kid sister! I mean – have you done all of your homework?"

"Of course not," Casey scoffed.

"And are your parents giving you a hard time?" Oscar asked indignantly.

"No. They've given up," Casey replied, with a shrug of indifference. "Roland does occasionally, though. It's such a shame I'm not putting the effort in at school," he went on in mocking tones. "I'm so bright. And I was always such a good kid. I mean – what planet has he been living on?"

Oscar had finished the ice-cream that Sharon Jackson had kindly donated. He looked at the clock. It was just after six. If he didn't start home soon, he was going to be late for dinner. And that wouldn't be a wise move, seeing as he was seriously considering making up with his mother.

A white sweater, faded blue jeans and a jet-black ponytail sweeping past the sitting room doorway soon distracted Oscar from these thoughts, however, as he remembered why he had come here in the first place. Any of the other three members of Mood Slime would normally have been his first port of call – or possibly Kevin Rivera, who had been showing a great deal of support through this whole feud with Dana. Casey Jackson was more of a second-division friend: fine for ice-cream and a grumble if nobody else was available. But as far as Oscar was concerned, the Jackson household had one advantage that none of his other friends' homes did.

"I'd better get going," Oscar suddenly announced, leaping to his feet. Then he held out a hand for Casey's empty ice-cream bowl and offered smilingly, "I'll take that."

Casey's younger sister Amy was in the kitchen, as expected. She was pulling plates out of a high cupboard – presumably in preparation for the evening meal.

"Hi AJ," Oscar smiled pleasantly at her. "Hope you weren't planning on having ice-cream for afters."

"Why – have you eaten it all?" Amy asked jovially.

"'Fraid so. I was comfort eating. I feel pretty bad about being so mean to my mom lately."

"You ought to go home and make it up to her."

"I'll try," Oscar said solemnly; "but if that means not playing the gig on Sunday I just can't. I don't think she can know how much this means to me," he added thoughtfully. "If she did I'm sure she wouldn't try to stop me."

"So tell her," Amy suggested helpfully.

"All right, I will. Hey – after I get back, will you go out with me?"

Amy sighed deeply and rolled her eyes. They were both smiling comically. This conversation had become something of a regular bit – even though she knew he was being completely serious.

"I'm sorry, Oscar," she smiled apologetically. "No."

There's a surprise. "Why not?"

"It's not that I don't want to."

Ah-ha! So she _was_ interested!

"But my dad would hate it," Amy finished.

"Why?" Oscar asked indignantly. "What's wrong with me?"

"Well, when my sister Tara was my age, she had this sixteen-year-old boyfriend who turned out to be a drug dealer."

Oscar blinked in surprise and said defensively, "I'm not a drug dealer."

"No," Amy agreed, "but you are sixteen. Two years is a lot at our age. To tell you the truth, my dad really doesn't want me to have any kind of boyfriend – but I don't think he'd mind so much if it was somebody my own age."

"Well... AJ..." Oscar faltered. "Is it really up to your dad?"

"No, but when Tara was with the drug dealer she and Dad didn't talk to each other for like months," Amy told him. "I don't want to – you know – alienate him or anything. Sorry," she added, offering a small smile as a consolation prize.

"Ok, you win for now," Oscar conceded. "But I'm not giving up. I'll tell you what I'll do while I'm away: I'll try to think of a way to prove myself to your dad."

"You could try cutting off your ponytail," Amy suggested jokingly.

"What?" Oscar's hand flew to the back of his head and he grabbed his sleek black ponytail defensively. "Why?"

"My dad hates it."

"Really?" Oscar asked, surprised by this news.

"Yeah."

"Why? You've got a ponytail," he pointed out.

"Yeah," Amy said again. "But I'm a girl."

"Uh!" Oscar snorted indignantly. "That is so sexist."

"Well, my dad kinda is," shrugged Amy. "But anyway – if you really like me, you'll do it."

Oscar shook his head. "Not gonna happen. I like you, AJ, but not that much."

"Oh well – you can't be that keen," she smiled flirtatiously.

"You know what? You're right – I'm not," Oscar flirted back. "Your dad can keep you – I don't care. There'll be plenty of hot chicks in Brooklyn who dig guys with long hair."

Amy started to laugh, but quickly turned it into a cough when she saw Casey framed in the doorway, looking less than pleased with the situation.

"You still here?" he asked Oscar coldly.

"Me? No, I've gone," Oscar returned smilingly, winking at Amy on his way out. "Bye, Case. See you, AJ."

x x x

"Garrett!"

"Jess!"

"Fantastic!" Jessica enthused, ushering Garrett through the nice wide front door and into the hallway. "You can help Dad and me. We're trying to persuade Mom to let me go to Brooklyn with you guys this weekend."

"Cool," Garrett smiled at her. "You always make a party worthwhile, Jess. Why doesn't your mom want you to go?"

"Because I'm eleven," Jessica replied, rolling her eyes. "And she thinks you and Oscar and Tim and Danny and Ella are all irresponsible."

"Well, we kinda are," Garrett pointed out. "But I don't think Jo is."

"Who or what is Jo?" Jessica asked guardedly.

"Friend of mine," Garrett answered breezily. "She's coming with us. I had to persuade her to come along so she wouldn't go rock climbing."

"Huh?"

"Tell you about it later. Is your brother around? I came to tell him we'll have an extra guest – seeing as you're on my way home and I suddenly remembered two doors down that I hadn't told him yet."

Jessica opened her mouth to tell Garrett that Oscar wasn't in. However in that precise moment the front door clicked open, so she changed her answer to: "Yeah, he's right there."

"Why the long face, kid?" Garrett asked, as Oscar slumped into the hallway.

"No biggy," Oscar replied with a shrug. "I just got turned down by a girl, that's all."

"Oh, that's too bad," Garrett sympathised.

"Maybe you'd better wait a while to tell him about your 'friend', Garrett," Jessica advised. "Hey, Oscar – who is she? Dad said it must be a girl getting you down. I thought it was just the whole thing with Mom."

"You were right," Oscar told his sister. "She wasn't really getting me down until about half-an-hour ago. And I'm not going to tell you who she is."

Jessica looked extremely disappointed. "Why not?"

"Because you'll use it when you can't think of anything else to annoy me with," Oscar returned. "Did you ask Mom if you can go yet?"

"Yes."

"What did she say?"

"No – but we're working on her," Jessica assured her brother.

"Go keep working on her," Garrett advised. "I'll be there in a minute, ok?"

Jessica obligingly turned and made her way into the kitchen, where Dana was simultaneously arguing with Peter and preparing the evening meal. Garrett wheeled himself towards Oscar and said in a furtive whisper, "Tell me who she is and I'll help you."

"You'll help me?" Oscar asked dubiously.

"You needn't doubt my credibility, kid. Yesterday morning I persuaded the girl of my dreams to come to Brooklyn with us. And then I forgot to let you know – and a good thing too, or I wouldn't be here now. So, come on: who is she?"

"Girl of your dreams, huh?"

"Yep," Garrett confirmed.

"All right, I'll tell you. But no one else hears about this, ok? Least of all my sister."

"My lips are sealed."

Oscar looked at his shoes and mumbled sheepishly, "Amy Jackson."

"Amy Jackson?" Garrett echoed incredulously. "Get out! I didn't know you liked her! She's not even that pretty. Nice kid, though. I hear she's a riot at parties. Yeah – you could do worse."

"So are you going to help me or not?" demanded Oscar.

"It so happens that you're in luck," replied Garrett confidently. "In fact I wish you would have come to me sooner. I know exactly how to make that girl fall desperately in love with you."

"Do you?" asked Oscar, the scepticism evident in his tone.

"Yes. It's easy. I figured it out years ago. All you have to do is tell her she's prettier than Tara."

"And then she'll agree to go out with me?"

"Undoubtedly," Garrett was confident.

"Worth a try, I suppose," Oscar surmised. "Not that I know what Tara looks like. You can't see her for all that makeup."

"She is gorgeous, though."

"Who – Tara?"

Garrett nodded.

"I hadn't noticed," Oscar said dryly. "I like a girl who's simple, honest and loves music almost as much as I do."

"That's our AJ," Garrett agreed, as he began to make his way through to the kitchen. "But whatever you do, don't tell her she's simple."

Oscar followed Garrett into the kitchen, where all the other three members of his family were still debating the question of Jessica escorting Oscar's band Mood Slime to Brooklyn (the band named in homage to the defeat of Vigo, and therefore the deliverance of the infant that was to become its front man). Dana's stubbornness never failed to amaze her son. Peter and Jessica were both pleading reasonably with her through charismatic smiles, and she was still refusing to be talked round.

"Hey, Mom," Oscar ventured timidly. "I'm sorry I've been a bit crabby with you lately. I still don't think school stuff is so important, but I suppose if it'll make you happy I could try to make some more time for it."

Dana regarded her son with deep suspicion as she asked warily, "Why? What do you want?"

"I just want for you to understand how much this gig means to me," Oscar replied, in imploring tones. "And I want your blessing before I go."

"Ugh... all right," Dana conceded, her tone distinctly irritable. "But I want you to do all of your homework before you go."

That wasn't just a tall order; it was scientifically impossible. Oscar had more outstanding homework than he could possibly get through in two days and one evening. But he had his mother on side now; it would be foolish to tell her as much.

"All right," he agreed. "I'll do my best."

"Aww – that's so totally sweet," crooned Garrett, who was watching the domestic scene from the kitchen doorway. "So, Dana – can Jessica come with us?"

"Please let her come, Mom," Oscar jumped in. "I could really use the support, seeing as you and Dad aren't going to be there."

"And we'll take ever such good care of her," Garrett put in, his sarcastic tone probably not helping matters.

"Come on, Mom – you know I'd never let anything happen to her," Oscar reasoned, draping an arm around Jessica's shoulders for emphasis. "Please...?"

"If you guys were on TV I'd dismiss you as fake," Garrett remarked scathingly. "Have any of you ever even seen 'The Simpsons'?"

After dinner, Oscar phoned his friend Tim Price (second guitar and roadie to Mood Slime) to inform him of the change of plans.

"Ok, great," Tim enthused. "We can stick her in the corner behind Danny's drums."

"I know you're kidding and there's plenty of room, Tim – but nevertheless Jess and I will be taking the bus," Oscar smiled dryly into the phone.

"What? Why?" demanded Tim. "Don't you trust me or something?"

"Tim, I am prepared to risk my own life in that death-trap – and I'm even prepared to risk my guitar, goddamn it!" Oscar exclaimed mock-dramatically. "But if my little sister dies in your van, I will never hear the end of it."

x x x

If she wasn't missing them already, Dana might have felt indignant enough to inform her family that she was not their chauffeur, thank you very much. Although she pretty much was: on Friday afternoon she had to drive Peter to the airport and then both of her children to the bus station.

Jo had got a lift from her own mother. She now waited at the bus station with Garrett, staring as though shocked at the trio of teenagers her companion had just pointed out to her. They were standing around a dilapidated off-white van, presumably waiting to see their fourth band member off in the bus.

"That's them?" Jo asked incredulously. "That bunch of Eco-Goths over there?"

"They're not Eco-Goths," Garrett contradicted her. "If you think they're scary, you should meet my friend Kylie. These guys are actually really nice. Come on."

The closer Jo got to these three quarters of Mood Slime, the more apprehensive she became. The girl was the most noticeable: she wore fishnet stockings, shredded leathers, a platinum-blond spiked ponytail and two-tone lipstick: black on top, blood-red on the bottom. The guy in the baggy jeans and rapidly unravelling grey sweater didn't seem so bad; at least his floppy brown hair looked un-tampered with.

Garrett was looking at the guy with short, spiked bleached-blond hair. He was impossibly skinny and wore tight black jeans, a black t-shirt and a silver ring in his right ear. And... mascara? Surely not, Jo vainly tried to convince herself.

"Hi Danny," Garrett smiled a greeting at Mascara Guy.

"Hi Garrett," Danny Hart smiled back. "Glad you found us. These guys didn't want to, but I thought it was only polite to see you off."

"Hey, I know you!" Jo exclaimed, staring at Danny in sudden recognition. "You came out to your parents on MTV last week!"

"Heh – yeah – the first gay confession to stun an entire nation in years," Leather Girl (a.k.a Ella Stephens) laughed dryly. "I'll bet nobody watched who wasn't thinking: They haven't already guessed?"

"Guys, this is Jo," Garrett introduced his companion. "Jo – Ella, Danny and Tim."

"It's nice to meet you," Jo smiled weakly.

"Don't worry. We're not as scary as we look," Danny assured her, extending his skeletal right arm for a handshake. "You know the music scene's all about image. Always has been. Ah – here's our front man. Oscar," he told Jo, nodding towards the trio that had just climbed out of Dana's car some hundred yards away. "Isn't he adorable? Wait 'til you see him with a guitar in his hands – he'll have them all panting for us."

"Seriously," Jo said, looking questioningly at Danny. "They didn't guess?"

"Well," Danny shrugged, "I don't get to see my mom that often and I think my dad was just in denial. He went ape when I got home – let me tell you. Hi guys!"

"Oh God – look at it," Dana flinched, eyeing Tim's filthy old van despairingly. "Promise me you won't take my daughter anywhere in that thing."

"Don't worry, Mom, I wouldn't let that happen," Oscar assured her.

"We'll treat her like a glass ornament, Mrs. V," Ella put in. "So when's this bus supposed to get here anyway?"

Dana glanced at her watch. "Only about two minutes," she said. "Gosh, we were cutting it fine. Hey, you two." She took each of her children into a one-armed hug. "Have fun. Don't drink, don't take drugs and don't talk to any strange men."

"What rock concerts have you been to, Mom?" Oscar grinned lopsidedly. "This is strictly a tea and cake affair, I promise you."

x x x

"Oh my God!" Jessica gasped, staring through the darkness in apparent horror at the youth hostel that was to be her home for the next forty-eight hours or so.

"What's wrong?" Oscar asked anxiously, all sorts of horrible possibilities flashing through his mind. She'd left something vital at home; she was about to throw up from some kind of delayed motion sickness; her appendix had just ruptured...

"This place looks exactly like the Bates Motel!"

Oscar rolled his eyes disdainfully and said, "Tell you what, Jess: when you want to take a shower, I'll stand outside and make sure nobody tries to kill you. Come on." He secured his grip on the Nike holdall slung over his shoulder and signalled to his friends, who were piling out of Tim's van. "Let's get in there."

"Wallance, Wallance..." the blonde at reception was muttering ten minutes later, as she ran a ballpoint pen down a closely-typed list of names. "Ah yes – I remember you. You called us with two days' notice to ask if we could make room for your kid sister. You guys don't mind squeezing, do you?"

"Not at all," Oscar smiled pleasantly at the blonde, signing his name on a slip of paper that she had just thrust towards him. "Just as long as my parents don't find out. It took us ages to persuade our mom to let her come here in the first place."

"Thanks," the blonde smiled, as Oscar slipped the small sheet of paper back to her. "Too bad I can't keep these for myself. The place is heaving with amateur rock groups; chances are at least one of these autographs will be worth something someday."

"If you want to steal one, take his," Ella advised, draping an arm heavy with silver bangles around Oscar's shoulders. "He's gorgeous and talented."

"He's not the only one if you're looking, sweetie," the blonde smiled knowingly at her. Then she turned to Oscar and added, "I'd keep an eye on your sister if I were you, kid."

"Don't even joke about it," Oscar flinched. "My mom and dad would kill me."

"So," the receptionist went on, turning to select a room key from the wall behind her. (Jessica thinking: Oh God; that happened on "Psycho"...) "When's your spot?"

"Sunday," Tim replied. "Two p.m."

"Nervous?" She handed Oscar the room key

"Well, maybe a little," Tim smiled suavely, flipping back a stray lock of his brown hair for effect. "But it always helps if I know there's a pretty blonde watching."

Ella tutted and rolled her eyes, saying scathingly to Tim, "Honestly, Oscar's dad is better at this than you are. Come on." She grabbed the frayed sleeve of his sweater and started leading him away from the reception desk. "Time you took a cold shower, Timothy."

x x x

"I'll warn you now about my mom."

"Ok," Jo cautiously agreed, cutting a sideways glance at the bungalow directly to her left. They were about twelve inches from the front door. If there was something very wrong with Garrett's mother, Jo wished he would have told her on the bus so she'd have had more time to prepare. But in fairness, their conversation had been far too engaging for him probably even to remember a thing like that: basketball, college, gym memberships, whether the Ghostbusters were actually for real...

"Mother hen," Garrett went on, his tone somewhat apologetic. "One hair out of place and she makes a fuss. It's never my fault, though. If my hair's a mess it must be because I'm too helpless to wield a comb. So I'll probably get a little edgy with her. I apologise for that now."

"Sounds like she just cares about you," Jo defended the woman she had never met.

"Yeah," Garrett returned dryly. "Too much."

"What about your dad?"

"He's ok," shrugged Garrett. "Sort of normal. He's realised I don't like people treating me differently so he just pretends not to notice the wheelchair."

"You do talk about it a lot," Jo remarked.

"Talk about what?"

"Your handicap."

"You think that means I have a problem with it?" Garrett demanded, his blue eyes narrowing slightly.

"Um... no." Jo held up her hands in a protest of innocence. "God, no – I felt like a pathetic cry-baby when I saw how well you handled it."

"Well, you kinda were," Garrett grinned lopsidedly. "But I suppose it wasn't the same for you as it is for me. You don't miss what you never had."

There was one problem with his handicap, however, that Garrett was particularly aware of now. In this quiet cul-de-sac away from the city centre, the softening sunlight created a halo around Jo's sleek, dark-blond hair. She looked positively angelic, and he wanted more than anything to kiss her. But just how, he asked himself, was he supposed to do so in that position? "Uh... would you mind bending down a little bit, please?" Hmm... best not. If he was really going to kiss her this weekend, he would have to wait until she was sitting down.

"Let's go in, shall we?" Garrett suggested, tilting his head sideways towards his childhood home.

"Honey!" Susan Miller trilled the moment her son was through the door. "How was your journey? Are you ok? Do you need anything? Oh – who's this?"

It was a struggle for Jo to conceal her surprise. Garrett had been so sure his parents wouldn't mind her sleeping on their sofa. It hadn't even occurred to her that their son might not have told them she was coming.

"This is Jo," Garrett replied breezily, shaking off his mother's attempts to take control of his chair. "Jo – Mom."

"Um... Susan," Susan smiled politely, offering a handshake.

"She'll be crashing on our couch tonight and maybe tomorrow night," Garrett went on. "Hope that's ok."

"Um..."

"Where's Dad?"

"Kitchen, sweetie. Go on through. Would you like me to -?"

"No!" Garrett snapped irritably, grabbing both wheels of his chair and making his way through the hall.

Jo found herself alone with Susan Miller out in the hallway. Great. What was she supposed to do now? Was she expected to follow her escort, or stay here and make small talk? Better be polite, she decided, as she had shown up at this woman's home unannounced. And Jo was a friendly person – very good at small talk.

"I'm sorry about this," she smiled apologetically. "I assumed he would have told you I was coming. Silly of me, huh?"

"Oh, don't worry about it." Susan flapped her hand around dismissively. "Come on through to the living room, dear. So how do you know Garrett?"

Susan Miller looked to be in her mid-fifties – which seemed about right to Jo, considering Garrett's age. She had her son's reddish-brown hair, which was scraped back into a loose, untidy ponytail. She was round-faced, smiling and wearing a floral-patterned dress – complete with an old-fashioned white apron that looked like it belonged on the set of a "Little Women" dramatisation.

"He treated me in the hospital," Jo explained, smiling graciously as Susan indicated for her to take a seat on the sofa. "I can be very clumsy. In retrospect it probably wasn't such a great idea for someone like me to go rock climbing."

"What happened?" Susan asked, looking suitably concerned.

"Lost my footing, I suppose," Jo replied. "But I have to say: the harness man wasn't entirely blameless. Those things are supposed to stop you getting too bashed up, but I still managed to end up with two broken legs."

"Oh my dear!" gasped Susan.

"Garrett fixed me, though," Jo smiled happily. "He's very good. You must be proud of him."

"Oh, of course!" Susan nodded enthusiastically. "He's done well to get so far – especially when you consider the... you know... Oh – there you are!" she exclaimed, as her husband and son entered the room. "Jo, this is my husband: Howard."

"It's nice to meet you," Jo smiled pleasantly, rising to her feet and proffering her right arm for a handshake.

"Likewise," Howard Miller smiled pleasantly through a wiry, dark-brown beard. "We've just put the kettle on. Tea or coffee?"

"Coffee, please."

"Black, strong and sweet," Garrett added for her. "It'll be even better than the stuff in the machine at the hospital, Jo. Mom's very good at coffee. Hey – what's for dinner?"

"I've got some steaks in the freezer, honey," Susan replied. Then she looked at Jo and added, "Is that all right with you? You're not a...?"

"Vegetarian?" Jo finished for her. Was that word taboo in the Miller household or something? "No. I couldn't be one even if I wanted to. I like meat too much."

That was certainly true. Jo loved good food. She and Garrett shared two passions: food and sport. And in both cases their athletic hobbies were for recreation more than health reasons; neither had any qualms about pigging out occasionally.

"So." Howard took a seat in one of the armchairs while his wife wandered off to attend to her various chores in the kitchen. "What do you do?"

"I'm a fitness instructor," Jo answered at once; "when I'm not laid up in hospital, that is. It's loads of fun – although being out of action for six months lost me my last job."

"Don't sweat it, Jo," Garrett cut in. "Everyone loves me at my gym. I'll bet I can persuade them to take you on."

"Just don't tell them I can't stick to any of the diets I recommend," Jo smiled crookedly at him.

"Diets. Fff – who needs 'em?" Howard – who was no skeleton – scoffed dismissively. "Good for you, kid. Girls these days worry too much about their figure. Personally I like a woman with a bit of - "

"So – Dad," Garrett jumped in hastily, wanting nothing less than to let the object of his desire hear the end of that sentence. "Uh... how have you guys been?"

"Same as ever," shrugged Howard. "So, Jo – what exactly did you do to end up in hospital?"

Same as ever. Figures, Garrett thought dryly. He couldn't fault his parents for being happy in their safe, unchanging life – but it wasn't for him. Every time he went home he was grateful that he had somewhere else to go when he wanted to leave. His mother was so sure that the futility of his legs was what made him want to spread his wings so wide. Garrett always maintained that his disability had no real impact on his life – but there seemed little point in debating a matter that could never really be solved.

"...not more than about twenty-five feet up. Otherwise I'd probably be dead."

"You'll end up that way before much longer if you carry on like that," Howard said sternly.

"Dad!" Garrett exclaimed, horrified.

"What?"

"Is it too much to ask, when I bring my friends home, for you not to tell them they're going to die?"

"He's just pointing out the risks, Garrett," Jo said calmly. "It's ok; I already know. Frankly, though, I'm as likely to die from cholesterol the way I eat – but I do it because I enjoy it. Eat, drink and be merry – that's my motto."

"Good motto," Garrett approved smilingly. He found that the more time he spent with this woman, the more he liked her. She was witty, fun, interesting... gorgeous. As crass as it sounded, even inside his head, Garrett was sorry no longer to have the excuse to put his hands on her every day. And he couldn't help but wonder if she was sorry too. She had come all this way to a place where she was a complete stranger and was prepared to sleep on an old suede sofa just because he'd said he wanted to spend the weekend with her. That had to mean she liked him at least a little bit, surely.

"Coffee!" Susan announced brightly, carrying a tray full of steaming mugs into the room. "Take as much sugar as you like, dear – but you ought to be careful about that, you know. Coffee is bad enough for you as it is."

Garrett literally had to bite his tongue. Why did his mother have to be quite so embarrassing? And more importantly: why had he been fool enough to bring Jo here on a first date?

x x x

"Jess."

"What?"

"What in God's name are you doing?"

"Checking for spy holes."

Oscar spent a few moments staring blankly at his sister, who was kneeling with her back to him on the bottom of a set of bunk beds and running both hands over the wall.

"You know," Jessica went on. "Spy holes. I don't know about you, but I don't want some nut-job staring at me through the wall while I get undressed."

"This isn't the Bates Motel, Jess," Oscar returned dryly. "It's not really even that like it. For one thing, it's jam-packed. Now listen – I want you to stay in here and don't talk to anybody until I get back, ok? I don't like the looks of some of these guys."

Oscar wasn't happy about leaving his little sister alone in a place full of teenage rock-and-rollers. But Tim had hooked up with a talent-less yet pretty backing singer, while Danny and Ella were playing darts in the basement. And for some reason, Oscar just felt filthy and he had to do something about it.

"Where are you going?" Jessica asked disinterestedly.

"Bathroom. It's only just down the hall if you need me."

Jessica gasped and turned sharply to face her brother, taking in at a glance the towel slung over one arm, the bottle of shampoo and the portable shower radio that he was holding.

"You're not going to take a shower!" she exclaimed.

"Uh..." Oscar glanced down at his towel. "Yeah."

"No! Please don't!" Jessica begged. "Hey – let's go to Garrett's! I'm sure they wouldn't mind. From the sound of her his mom could use the excitement."

"Don't be dense," Oscar returned scathingly. "I'm going, ok? My hair feels like a lard factory."

Jessica shook her head and rolled her eyes, muttering, "You and your hair."

"It's pathetic," Oscar added, in distinctly feminine tones.

"Huh?"

"_I Know What You Did Last Summer_, Jessie," Oscar grinned mischievously. Then he tilted his head towards the cupboard in the far corner and whispered eerily, "The killer was hiding in the closet."

"Shut up. And go and get yourself killed if you want to," Jessica shrugged dismissively, kicking back on the bed and picking up her copy of _Fast Times at Ridgemont High_. "See if I care."

Oscar left the room, making sure to shut the door behind him. Jessica looked no more than her eleven years, but there could be any number of sick weirdoes roaming these halls, and her brother was not prepared to take the risk.

There were two bathrooms on that and every other floor, both of which were unisex. Oscar thought it would have been small trouble to screw ladies' and gents' signs into each of the doors – but then again it really didn't matter, as anyone could lock themselves in there with the shower, three basins and two toilet cubicles. He recalled similar bathroom arrangements in a youth hostel he had stayed in on a school trip to France last summer. The teachers had been so horrified to learn the bathrooms were unisex that they'd made the boys and the girls sleep on different floors.

Once he had locked the door, Oscar stripped and left his clothes in an untidy pile on the floor. He pulled off his hair band and shook out his shoulder-length black hair. Then he set about finding a way to fix his radio to the very basic shower cubicle. It was a little peculiarity of his: he just had to listen to the radio while he was showering. Perhaps taking it out of the house for the weekend was a slightly odd thing to do – but not unreasonable, Oscar thought, as his mother wouldn't miss it.

The shower was on. So was the radio. Oscar twiddled the switch until he found something he deemed worth listening to. Shakespeare, jazz, news, classical music... Ah-ha! Shark Island. Perfect. Nothing like a little trip to the nineteen-eighties to whet your appetite for some serious heavy metal. Oscar grabbed his shampoo and squirted a blob of it into his hand, nodding his head rapidly in time to the music and sending tiny droplets of water flying from his hair.

As his hair soaked up the lathered shampoo and his ears soaked up the music, Oscar couldn't help thinking about "Psycho". Jessica couldn't really be worried that he was going to be stabbed to death in the shower. This was nothing like that movie. For one thing, Janet Leigh didn't have a shower radio. What she did have was forty thousand dollars – but as he let Shark Island's rowdy tones wash over him with the hot water from the shower, Oscar wasn't sorry that he had that little radio instead of a wad of cash. This was one of the dozens of songs that he loved. He hadn't even realised that he was singing along to it, beautifully and zealously: "DAN-GER-OUS! YEAH – she's what I need now – DAN-GER-OUS..."

However his enjoyment ended abruptly when the shower curtain was wrenched open and Oscar found himself standing face-to-face with a fiendish looking figure in drainpipe trousers and a black leather jacket. Despite his initial panic, Oscar was thinking clearly enough to realise that this guy had to be a ghost. The flesh was falling away from the left side of his face to reveal a smooth, jaundiced skull. His right hand was dripping blood; the grease in his dark-brown hair was forever melting over his forehead and into his glowing, bright green eyes. But the real giveaway was the electric guitar slung around his shoulders: bright orange flames were licking all around it – reaching up for the musician but missing him completely.

There was barely a moment to take all of this in before the ghost reached into the shower, crushed the radio with its bleeding hand and then made a grab for Oscar's throat. Oscar ducked quickly, wincing as an angry flame from the guitar nicked his right ear. The cascade of water falling on him was apparently useless against this particular fire. Oscar lashed out randomly with his elbow, managing by a stroke of luck to find the ghost's crotch. With his adversary momentarily stunned, he was able to run out of the shower and make for the door – thankfully managing to grab his towel on the way out.

James Weiss, the youth hostel manager, just happened to be out in the corridor. He stared blankly at the boy now leaning against the closed bathroom door and breathing heavily as he secured a flimsy white towel around his waste.

"Everything all right, son?" Weiss enquired politely.

"Oh!" Oscar looked up, startled. "Yeah. Fine. I... um... saw a spider."

"You left the shower running," Weiss frowned disapprovingly.

"Yeah, well," Oscar panted, pushing his dripping hair back from his face. "Spiders – you know, they just... woo! Creep me out," he laughed awkwardly. "Actually I left my clothes in there too."

"Then I suggest you retrieve them," Weiss said helpfully.

"Uh... yeah, right."

Oscar stared at Weiss, willing him to leave. But the man was going nowhere. So, as he tried to steady his breathing, Oscar turned and carefully pushed open the door to the bathroom. The ghost guitarist was gone. So were the drops of blood that it had left on the tiled floor moments before.

His whole body shaking uncontrollably, Oscar advanced slowly into the room and turned off the shower with a trembling hand. He grabbed what he could of his radio, which looked completely beyond repair. He then made for the pile of clothes in the middle of the floor and clambered into his jeans – on display for anyone who might happen to be watching, as he really didn't want to shut himself in there again.

"What's going on?" Jessica demanded, appearing in the doorway next to Weiss.

"I told you to stay in the room, Jess," Oscar scolded, his voice still shaking. He turned away from the open doorway to zip up his fly and remove the towel. "It was a spider."

"Are you kidding me?" Jessica asked dryly.

Turning round, Oscar saw that Weiss had gone. He scuttled out into the corridor, clutching his watch, hair band, t-shirt and boxers to his chest. He leaned close to Jessica's ear and hissed furtively, "Not kidding; lying. It was a ghost."

"What?" squeaked Jessica.

"A ghost came into the shower and tried to kill me."

"I told you not to take a shower!" Jessica exclaimed in horrified tones.

"Yeah yeah yeah – you were right," Oscar whispered urgently. "It's _Psycho_ meets _Rock Star_ meets _Night of the Living Dead_. Dad can sell the idea for millions – but in the meantime I think we ought to let Garrett know about this and maybe call home."

"Hey – are you ok?" Jessica asked worriedly. "That looks like a burn on your ear."

"I'm fine," Oscar assured her. "My radio came off worst. Come on – let's get outta here."

x x x

Ok. Garrett had decided: "Let's go for a walk" was his favourite five-word combination. What a truly magical sound it was. Let's. Go. For. A. Walk. Wow. It was just amazing. And it sounded particularly good when it wasn't followed by: "Oh gosh! I'm sorry – I didn't... I only meant... Because obviously you can't, but... oh my God!"

Or something like that.

"Nice night," Jo remarked, as she wheeled Garrett through the park, about three hundred yards from where the stage had been set up in preparation for tomorrow's concert. "Sure you don't mind letting me push?"

"If it makes you happy, Jo," Garrett replied smilingly.

"Meh," Jo shrugged. "It's just nice to dictate the pace for a change."

"What – you always walk this slowly?"

"No. But that's not the point. It just always seems to be me who has to keep up with you."

"Oh." Garrett looked down at his hands, as though hoping they might tell him what to say. "Sorry."

"Don't sweat it," Jo returned casually. "Hey – do you hear that?"

Garrett couldn't hear anything but his and Jo's voices. But Jo stopped – talking, moving and apparently even breathing – in invitation for Garrett to listen out for what she had heard. He strained his ears, and soon realised that Jo must be referring to the two muffled voices some distance away. Two very familiar voices, as it happened. Garrett concentrated hard on trying to hear the words, hoping to figure out whether or not these people were who he thought they were.

"You've lost us, haven't you," the girl said accusingly.

"I'm not lost," the boy returned calmly. "I just don't know where we are."

"I'm not lost either," his companion retorted flippantly. "If we retrace our steps we can get back to the youth hostel."

"No way. I'm not letting you go back there – at least not tonight."

"Look. You can wander around in the dark if you want to. I'm going back."

"Hey! Don't you dare walk away from me!"

"Take your hands off me!"

"Promise me you won't wander off."

"Why? Worried I might get lost? Newsflash! I ALREADY AM!"

"Don't yell at me. I know it's around here somewhere."

"I know the youth hostel is a mile and a half back that way."

"I'm not letting you go back there. Anything could happen."

"Yeah, well – I still think we're better off there than roaming a deserted park in the middle of the night."

"It's not even ten."

"Same diff. Mom's going to kill you if she finds out about this. You're supposed to be looking after me. But instead you go off and nearly get yourself killed – against my advice, I might add – and then you take me out and get us lost – and possibly even murdered – just when it's starting to get dark."

"Stop complaining. Garrett said it's the other side of the park. So if we keep walking in this direction - "

"We'll get even more lost."

"Oh, will you shut up?"

"Oscar?" Garrett called out at last, realising that perhaps he ought to offer some help instead of just listening, fascinated, to their exchange.

A brief silence, and then: "Garrett? Where are you?"

"Um... I don't know! Where are you?"

"We're lost, you complete moron!" Jessica called out irritably. "If you don't know where you are, what hope do _we_ have?"

"It's ok!" Jo yelled out to the horizon. "I can see you!"

"Oh! I can see you too!" Oscar's voice cried excitedly, as the taller of the two silhouettes Jo had spotted spun round a-hundred-and-eighty degrees. "Thank God for that!"

Yeah, Garrett thought bitterly. Thank God. I was really hoping you kids would come and interrupt. Anything could have been about to happen, you lousy pair of little...

"What's going on?" he asked anxiously, as Oscar and Jessica approached. "Are you guys ok?"

"I told him not to take a shower!" Jessica fumed. "I knew he'd get himself killed!"

"Cut it out," snapped Oscar. "You were just being your usual crazy self. There was no way either of us could know that a ghost was going to attack me in the shower."

"A ghost attacked you in the shower?" Jo asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Oscar nodded solemnly. "Looks like that place is haunted. Um... Garrett... look, you know I wouldn't ask unless it was urgent, but I can't let Jess stay in a haunted youth hostel. Do you think you could find space for her at your place? Put her on the bathroom floor if you have to – I don't care. She just can't go back there."

"That's why you brought me out here?" Jessica huffed indignantly. "When you said tell Garrett, I thought we were going to get rid of it!"

"And how would you suggest we do that, Jessica?" her brother retorted. "With our good looks? We don't have any equipment!"

"We don't necessarily need equipment," Jessica persisted. "Haven't you ever seen 'The Innocents'?"

"Jess." Oscar rolled his eyes impatiently. "That's a movie! And anyway – didn't both of those kids in it end up dead?"

"Hey – let's worry about all that in the morning, shall we?" Jo cut in. "The important thing is that nobody's hurt."

Oscar stared at Jo for a few moments before asking sarcastically, "Mom, is that you?"

Jessica forgot her bad mood and started to laugh.

"Come on, let's go," Garrett suggested. "It's kind of cold out here – and I want to hear about this ghost."

x x x

Susan Miller was the perfect hostess, seemingly unfazed by the sudden appearance of a teenage rocker and his tomboyish younger sister in her home. She pottered in and out of the sitting room with lemonade and flapjacks while Oscar related the story of his attack to Garrett and Jo.

"...And his guitar was burning."

"Burning?" echoed Garrett.

Oscar nodded.

"Well that can't have been too much of a problem," Jo remarked. "Seeing as you were in the shower."

Shaking his head, Oscar walked over to her and pointed out the blister on the top of his right ear. Through all of this he was trying desperately to ignore Jessica's quiet humming, even though it was irritating him beyond belief.

"He attacked my radio before he had a pop at me," Oscar went on. "And from the way he was dressed, I'd say he was from nineteen-sixty-something. He kinda looked like John Tra- Jess!"

"Hmm?" Jessica responded, looking enquiringly up at her brother.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm singing 'The Phantom of the Opera'."

"Why?" Oscar asked curtly.

"Because," Jessica sighed impatiently, "I am trying to help you figure this thing out. It's so obvious. Clearly this guy was all set to appear in this concert thing forty-odd years ago. They did have it back then, didn't they, Garrett?"

"Since sometime in the Middle Ages, I think," Garrett replied solemnly.

"Right," Jessica smiled triumphantly. "But he never got to perform because he burnt up in some fire. And now he haunts the youth hostel, attacking people like you because he's bitter that you're still alive and talented and he died before he even got the chance to play some cruddy amateur thing. That's why he went for you when you were singing."

Oscar blinked in surprise. "Was I singing?"

"Yes," replied Jessica. "Didn't you know? The entire floor could probably hear you. I could – and those girls across the hall from us were getting quite excited. I think I even heard one of them say she wanted to jump into the shower with you."

"Which one?"

"I don't know."

"Doesn't matter, I suppose," Oscar shrugged dismissively. "Any one of them would have been better than the John Travolta ghost. Um... Jess?"

"What?"

"Your jacket's singing."

"Ooh!" Jessica reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a familiar silver cell phone, which was happily humming "Beethoven's Fifth" to itself. "That'll be Mom."

"I didn't know she gave you her cell phone," Oscar said accusingly.

"Well, now you know," returned Jessica. "Shall I answer or do you want to?"

"Ungh..." Oscar faltered. "Better let me."

Jessica threw the chirruping phone across the room. Oscar caught it skilfully in both hands and looked apprehensively at it for a few moments, before answering the call with an uncertain, "Hi Mom."

"What took you so long?" Dana's anxious tones barked into his scorched ear.

"Um... Jess and I were playing cat's cradle."

Jessica burst out laughing; Oscar shot her a warning look.

"Oh," Dana said, apparently satisfied by this answer. "So how are you? Is Jess ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, she's fine," Oscar replied breezily. "I didn't forget to change our reservation at the youth hostel and have to sneak her into our room or anything."

"WHAT?" squeaked Dana.

"Kidding, Mom."

"Oh – you're hilarious, aren't you. Just don't let anything happen to my baby, ok?"

"As if I would."

"Can I talk to her?"

"Um..." Oscar cut a sideways glance at his sister. "Sure," and he handed the phone to Jessica.

"Hi Mom," Jessica chirped brightly. "...Yeah, the place is nice. No ghosts or anything... Kidding, Mom... No, no – Oscar didn't get attacked in the shower... No, it's just that this place looks a little like the Bates Motel from the outside..."

"Oh crap, she's going to guess something's up," Oscar fretted. "Mom always finds out about these things. She's going to kill me!"

"Calm down," Jo said soothingly. "There was no way you could possibly have known the youth hostel would be haunted."

"And you took Jess out of there the moment you found out," Garrett added. "You're doing fine, kiddo. Hey, you know what'd be great? If we could find a way to get rid of that ghost. What do you guys reckon to Jessica's theory?"

"If that ghost has been attacking kids since the sixties," mused Oscar, "you'd think the staff at the hostel might have noticed by now."

"Yeah – I'll bet they know everything," Garrett intoned darkly. "Bastards. I say we march over there right now and demand to know what's going on."

"Of course I won't touch any of the electrical equipment, Mom. How stupid do you think I am? ...Yeah, I know... I love you too. See you on Sunday night... Ok, bye!" Jessica hung up. Then she looked at Oscar and said, "Mom loves you."

"I know she does," Oscar returned blandly.

"Well, she told me to tell you," shrugged Jessica. "Hey – what do you think she'll make of that burn on your ear?"

"She probably won't even notice it," Oscar said hopefully. "It's only little."

"It'd help if you wore your hair loose," Jo suggested.

"Ha – right," scoffed Oscar. "I don't think so."

x x x

At nine o'clock the next morning – right after Jo had completed her essential morning run – Garrett, Oscar, Jo and Jessica all made their way to the youth hostel. Jo was the first to speak when they neared the reception desk and noticed that a bespectacled brunette was sitting behind it.

"Oh, thank God for that," she sighed with relief. "Guess it's up to you, Oscar."

"Go on then." Garrett gave Oscar an encouraging shove. "Work your magic, Casanova."

"Hi," Oscar smiled suavely at the receptionist, squinting down at her nametag. "Hey, listen – my friends and I had a great night last night. The pool table alone kept us busy for hours."

"My face is here," the receptionist frowned disapprovingly.

"Oh." Oscar quickly raised his eyes to her face. "Sorry. I wasn't staring at your... I was just trying to read your nametag."

"Jenna Lannon," the receptionist provided. "Would you be Oscar Wallance?"

"Uh... yeah," Oscar answered guardedly. "Would you be psychic? Or have you just changed a lot since yesterday evening?"

"My friend Susie told me to look out for you," Jenna smiled shyly. "You're the – uh – 'cute guy with the sexy smile and the ponytail.' Ah – and the adorable blush, it seems. So, Mr. Wallance; is there something I can help you with?"

"Actually yes," Oscar replied, grateful to get off the topic of his sexy smile and adorable blush. "I was wondering if... uh... well, this may sound a little crazy, but..."

"Yes?" Jenna asked coaxingly, removing her glasses and batting her eyes at him.

Oh good God. Oscar had been so sure that trying to seduce the receptionist wouldn't work. Trying to ignore the look of pure desire that Jenna was giving him, he swallowed the lump in his throat and asked uncertainly, "I was just wondering if anybody ever died here. Maybe like... I don't know... in a fire or something."

Jenna's face fell. She stared at Oscar in abject horror for a good ten seconds before whispering furtively, "Why do you want to know that? Have you seen...?"

"I'll handle this, Jenna," James Weiss jumped in, suddenly appearing between Oscar and the reception desk as if by magic. "Ah." He eyed Oscar disapprovingly. "The arachnophobic. I trust you were not troubled by any more spiders last night."

"Damn it!" Jessica cursed under her breath. "And it was working too!"

"I'll handle this," Garrett murmured, wheeling himself towards the trio at the reception desk.

"It's a very common condition actually," Oscar was saying defensively to Weiss. (The spider thing had been a lie, but that wasn't to say he wouldn't have been spooked if he really had seen one.) "Everybody's scared of something."

"How true," Garrett cut in. "Do you work here?"

"And you are...?" Weiss asked scathingly.

Garrett looked squarely up at the middle-aged man in the business suit and answered evenly, "Writing a report on how youth hostel staff treat people in wheelchairs."

These were magic words indeed. Weiss's forbidding face instantly broke into a smile of welcome as he said, "Only good things are ever reported about this establishment, sir. Won't you and your friends step – uh... come into my office?"

Garrett directed a thumbs-up towards his three companions, and then signalled them to follow him and Weiss. Oscar joined the end of the small procession behind Jo – but stopped short when Jenna took him by surprise and grabbed hold of his wrist. Turning his head sharply to face her, he saw that she had got to her feet and was staring fixedly at him, her eyes fearful.

"Did it hurt you?" she hissed furtively.

"Um... just a little burn on the ear," Oscar replied warily.

"Of course it came after you," Jenna went on in anxious tones. "Look at you – you're just gor-... you're a handsome lad. And I'll bet you sing like an angel too. Oh – you have to get out of here. The others might be safe if it doesn't see or hear them, but it already knows you're here. It won't rest until it's made you look... oh God! Leave! Now! You have to go!"

"Whoa – calm down," Oscar said soothingly, trying vainly to free his wrist from Jenna's tight grip. "Um... can I take it you know something about this?"

"Please don't tell anyone you saw it," Jenna begged. "It only comes once a year. And it doesn't ever really hurt anybody. It's one angry little spirit, but it doesn't seem all that bright."

"Ok," Oscar said evenly. "You know there's a ghost. Do you know anything about its history? I suppose it died in a fire here. Do you know whose ghost it is?"

Jenna shook her head and replied shakily, "That's just it. There was a fire here the night before the rock concert in nineteen-sixty-three. Several people were seriously injured, but there were no fatalities."

"That's odd," Oscar remarked. "So what's with the ghost?"

"I don't know. And Mr. Weiss won't let me try to find out. He just wants to pretend we haven't noticed it. But the damn thing's been here since nineteen-sixty-three!" Jenna let out a loud sigh of frustration. "Mr. Wallance... Oscar... why are you so keen to find out about this ghost? Do you think you can stop it?"

"Well I certainly hope so," Oscar replied. "We're at least going to try."

"Then I'll help you," Jenna decided. "I'll tap into the database and get you a list of everyone who was staying here in sixty-three. I might even be able to get some of the old staff to tell me which kids were hurt. Would that help?"

"You bet it would!" enthused Oscar. "That would be great. Thank you so much. Although I gotta admit: I kinda think you maybe should have called the Ghostbusters in before now."

"I know," Jenna sighed. "I feel terrible. It's no excuse, but Mr. Weiss just won't have it. He threatens to fire me every year when I bring it up."

"The dick!" exclaimed Oscar. "I'll tell you what I'll do, Jenna. I'll find out who this ghost is, get rid of it for you and then get that Weiss guy struck off."

"Handsome and heroic," Jenna smiled dreamily. "I'll bet you make beautiful music."

"Um... I do my best," Oscar faltered embarrassedly. "Thanks for your help, Jenna. Can you please give this list to my sister or one of my friends? If this ghost really is after me, I'd kinda like to get outta here."

x x x

"It never got a chance to spread beyond the ground floor – apart from a small blaze in the basement," Weiss was telling Jo, Garrett and Jessica. "And there were no fatalities. Only a thousand dollars or so in damages. Now where did that lad get to?"

"My brother has better things to do than be fobbed off by you, Mr. Weiss," Jessica replied churlishly. "Come to that, so do I. Can we go now?"

"You're sure there were no fatalities?" Garrett asked sceptically.

"Quite sure, Mr. Miller."

"Well, if you're certain..."

"I'm sure you wouldn't lie to a man in a wheelchair, would you, Mr. Weiss," Jo added coolly. "Come on, you two. Let's get outta here."

x x x

"Oh good, there you are!" Jenna turned from her companion – a cleaning lady who looked to be in her mid-sixties – and stopped the trio on their way out of Weiss's office. "Your friend asked me tell you that he left. He's gone to the park to hook up with the gang, and he's going to meet you back at Garrett's at like ten thirty, 'k?" she mimicked Oscar's idiom. "Also he asked me to give you this." She thrust three pages of typeset into Jo's hands. "It's a list of all the kids who were staying here this weekend in nineteen-sixty-three. This is Beryl." She indicated her companion. "She's been working here forty-five years, so obviously she was here when the fire happened. She swears she remembers all of the kids who were seriously hurt because she had to help call their parents. We've put little ticks next to their names – see? Hey, look – I can't thank you enough for getting rid of this ghost for us. I've wanted to do something since I started work here four years ago. You guys really are a godsend."

"What just happened?" Garrett asked confusedly, once they were outside the youth hostel and well away from Jenna's frenzied babbling.

"Mrs. Robinson in there just helped us," Jessica answered, snatching a sheet of paper from Jo and scanning the list of names. "Very nice of her, I'm sure – but did you see the way she was looking at Oscar? Did she want to see me throw up? Just how old is she supposed to be anyway?"

"That's not important," Garrett said dismissively. "You girls go on ahead and see what you can find out from that list. I'm going back in to get a look at this ghost."

"'You girls go on ahead'?" Jessica repeated scathingly. "How patronising are you?"

"Just do it," Garrett sighed impatiently. "Look – we're not on-line at my parents' place. In fact I'm almost sure they've never even heard of the Internet. So I think you should call HQ and get someone's help there."

"Right," Jessica nodded. "Making sure to eliminate all possibility of my mother finding out about this, of course. Come on, Jo – you heard Mr. Bond. We girls have got to get out of here."

x x x

The rock concert was already in full swing when Oscar arrived at the park. Danny and Ella were too busy screaming at a Goth guy in tight leathers to notice him at first; but Tim saw his friend at once and was not altogether welcoming.

"Where have you been, man?" he demanded, having to shout over the music. "What did you do with Jess last night? What have you done with her now? I thought she and your Garrett-friend were supposed to be coming to this thing! And what took you so long anyway? These guys have been on for hours and they're about to bring on a new act!"

"Sorry, Tim," Oscar returned coolly. "Hey – did any of you guys happen to see a ghost last night?"

"Ghost?" echoed Ella, turning her head to reveal two black diamonds painted over her cheeks and around her eyes, each centred with a black-and-white spiral contact lens. "Nah. Should we have?"

"The youth hostel's haunted," Oscar explained. "Jess and Garrett and his she's-not-my-girlfriend-I-DON'T-think are looking into it right now. What time is it?"

"'Bout ten," Tim replied, glancing down at his watch.

"I can't stay long," said Oscar. "I promised I'd go back and give them a hand. Jesus, Ella – how can you put things in your eyes like that?" he added, grimacing.

"You get used to it," Ella shrugged. "It was weird at first, but you have to suffer to look cool. I've got some purple ones and some ones that look like cat eyes if anybody wants to borrow them."

"You know, Ella," Danny smiled wryly; "someday I'd be interested to see what you _really_ look like."

It wasn't long before Oscar got caught up in the music and the atmosphere. He was so close to heaven. Heaven itself would be when he was up on that stage. Ten thirty came in what seemed like a lot less than half-an-hour. Oscar didn't notice – and when Tim told him that it was nearly eleven, he didn't want to leave. But he knew he had to – so he made his way as quickly as he could back to Garrett's parents' house.

Garrett was nowhere to be seen. Susan was shoving a chicken into the oven, and Howard was presumably at work. Jo and Jessica were sitting side-by-side on the sofa. The phone was on the coffee table in front of them, evidently on speaker. Oscar could clearly hear Janine's voice wafting from it.

"Here we go," the phone was saying. "I think this could be it."

"Fantastic," Jo enthused. "Oscar just got here."

"You're a half-hour late," Jessica chided her brother.

"Sorry guys," Oscar smiled apologetically. "Hi Janine."

"Hi Oscar. Listen – I've searched every one of the names that Jess gave me and this guy is the only one who died. His name was Guy Blake. He was an aspiring rock star – second guitar to his group... 'The Moon Men'. Wow – dumb name."

"Yeah – it really was the sixties," Oscar smiled dryly.

"Good looking kid," Janine remarked, evidently having found a picture on her computer screen. "He was shooting pool by himself in the basement when the fire hit, and he managed to get himself trapped down there. Ooh – this is nasty. The ceiling collapsed, completely crushing his right hand."

"His guitar hand," Oscar flinched in sympathy.

"How do you know he wasn't left-handed?" asked Jessica.

"Are you _trying_ to be difficult?" snapped Oscar.

"Well, how do you know?" his sister asked again.

"I saw him, remember?" Oscar retorted. "He was wearing his guitar the way of a right-handed player. Still – I don't suppose it would have been much better if it was his left," he added thoughtfully. "You need both hands to play the guitar."

"That's not all," Janine's voice buzzed from the phone. "The ceiling brought a few flames with it. He caught light. The left side of his face was completely mutilated. Oh God – there's a picture," she added in sickened tones.

Jo shook her head and said quietly, "That's awful. And he didn't survive? How weird. Weiss was adamant there were no fatalities."

"So was that receptionist," added Oscar.

"There's more," Janine told them gravely. "It wasn't the fire that killed him. Guy was rescued and taken to hospital. Two weeks later he was told that his face was irreparable and he could never play the guitar again. He got so depressed that he threw himself off the hospital roof."

"That's awful!" Jo gasped. "That's the saddest story I've ever heard! That poor kid!"

She actually sympathised a little bit with Guy Blake. He must have felt the same way that she had felt when she lost the use of her legs. If she'd been told that she could never walk again, she didn't know what she might have done.

"What did he want to kill himself for?" Jessica asked scathingly, evidently feeling no such compassion herself. "That's like the most selfish thing anybody can do! What about his poor parents? And what a thing to commit suicide over! Looks aren't everything. How shallow can you get?"

"I'm sure he knew that, Jess," Oscar deadpanned. "He probably wouldn't have done it if he could still play. If I ever had to give up music, that would be the worst thing that could happen to me."

"But you wouldn't kill yourself over it, would you?" Jessica asked anxiously.

"Ha – I'd be tempted."

"Oscar!"

"What?"

"Don't say that!" Jessica exclaimed, her eyes widening and almost filling with tears. "Because it just might happen! Don't you see? I was right! The ghost's bitter about what happened to him and he wants to inflict the same fate on other young musicians! More specifically: YOU!"

"Great," Oscar muttered. "He wants to burn my face off."

"And stop you from ever singing or playing an instrument again," Janine put in helpfully.

"I was singing in the shower and he made a grab for my throat," Oscar remembered, instinctively touching a hand to his neck. "If he wasn't trying to kill me, he was trying to damage my voice. And that burn on my ear was no accident. He wants to make me look like he did after the fire. Oh crap... I can't let that happen," he panicked. "Jenna said he's never really hurt anybody before. It needn't be any different this time, right?"

"And what exactly did she mean by 'really'?" Jo wondered. "I think you should stay away from that place, Oscar, and so should your friends. But I need to go back and have another word with Weiss. I'll leave Jessica with you – there's no point in risking her. I should be ok. I'm ugly already and I sing like cat being strangled."

"Hey – you want me to send a team over?" Janine's voice chimed in. "This detective work is all very well, but it hardly seems necessary when you consider we can just zap and trap this ghost of yours."

"They've known about it at the hostel all this time," Oscar told her. "Do send some help over – but I also think we should try to make sure Weiss gets his comeuppance."

"And all this weekend – ideally before two o'clock tomorrow," Jessica put in dryly. "That's cutting it fine. And another thing: what in God's name is taking Garrett so damn long?"

x x x

The youth hostel was virtually deserted. It was also entirely devoid of elevators. Some people in Garrett's position might have given up pretty much straightaway, but he figured he might as well have a look around the ground floor. He encountered none of the hostel's guests and assumed that they must all be at the concert – with perhaps a few of them having paired off to the rooms in the three floors above.

"It's taller than the Bates Motel," Garrett muttered to himself, wheeling his way past a payphone and into a small room filled with vending machines. Feeling peckish, he reached into his jeans pocket for a coin and bought some peanut M&Ms. Then he sat back in his chair and wondered how he was ever going to get a look at this ghost.

Maybe Jessica was right and the ghost's attack of the previous night had been something to do with the fact that Oscar had been singing. Garrett pursed his lips, debating whether or not to give it a try. If he sat alone in the middle of a room full of vending machines singing to himself, he would feel extremely silly. He couldn't even sing that well. Would that bother the ghost? Oscar sang in perfect tune with a voice that could melt the stoniest of hearts. But maybe, as far as this ghost was concerned, an ok voice singing more or less in tune might do just as well. And besides: who was going to hear?

"Come on baby, light my fire..." Garrett sang out self-consciously.

Right. That was enough of that. If it was going to work, something probably would have happened by now. Almost certainly, in fact. Jessica had been absolutely right: the ghost was only after talented musicians. Maybe he should bring Oscar back here and send him into a room with a guitar and a ghost trap. If they had a ghost trap with them. Which they didn't. Ok – scrap that plan.

"You really like M&Ms, huh?" a female voice said, somewhere behind Garrett.

He was so startled he nearly left his chair.

"Not going to the concert, hon?" continued the owner of the voice: a dark-haired woman approaching old age. Garrett had to assume she was a cleaner, as she was wiping down the glass on the vending machines with a jay cloth.

"Um... I'm a Ghostbuster," Garrett tried to explain. "I was trying to lure the ghost."

"Ghostbuster, huh?" the woman smiled slightly. "About time too. No offence, hon, but I heard your little performance and you're not exactly in this guy's league. He normally goes for people who are exceptionally good-looking or exceptionally talented – preferably both. Hey, are you sure it's a good idea to look for this ghost without any of that fancy equipment you guys have?"

"My equipment isn't readily available to me right now," Garrett told her. "I'm not eliminating today; just investigating. I take it you know about this ghost. Is there anything you can tell me?"

"Sure," the cleaning lady answered smilingly. "He likes to hang out in the basement. Or at least I assume he's the invisible man who plays pool when all the kids are out. Mr. Weiss thinks he's only ever here for this weekend, but I know better. That's only when he's trouble. All the rest of the year he shoots pool."

"I thought he was visible."

"Sometimes he is, sometimes he isn't," shrugged the woman. "And sometimes he's there when I go down to clean. I say hi to him and he pretty much leaves me alone."

"Can you show me where the basement is?" asked Garrett.

"I've got a job to do, hon. I can't be pushing you up and downstairs all day."

"I can get down by myself," Garrett told her.

"How are you going to get back up?" she asked dubiously.

"I'll think of something... But if you don't see me in an hour, assume I haven't and come looking for me."

In all honesty, Garrett hadn't expected to see any more in the basement than he had seen in any of the ground floor rooms. He just hadn't been that lucky lately. He was missing the rock concert; his ghost hunt had turned up nothing; he hadn't managed to make any real progress with Jo...

"Whoa!" Garrett exclaimed, when he turned on the light and saw a shiny red ball launch itself across the pool table. Then, glancing up, he saw a wooden cue floating in midair. It bobbed around to the other side of the table, hovered for a moment as though in thought and then cannoned into the white ball. This in turn hit a yellow ball, which dropped neatly into a corner pocket.

"You're not bad, kid," Garrett murmured. "Now how about letting me get a look at you, huh?"

The ghost didn't oblige – apparently because it was too distracted. The pool cue dropped to the floor, and in that instant Garrett felt a horribly eerie shiver running down his spine. Instinctively he looked over his shoulder to the top of the stairs behind him. Smoke was billowing in under the door – the door being closed, which was odd, as Garrett could have sworn he'd left it open.

Before he had time to panic, Garrett heard frantic footsteps run past him and up the stairs. The door handle turned slightly and then fell back into place, as though whoever had been about to open the door seemed to realise that this would probably result in a face-full of flames.

The running footsteps started again on the metal staircase. Looking up, Garrett could see that the smoke was still seeping under the door and rapidly getting thicker. It seemed obvious to him what was happening, not least because he'd seen that horribly disturbing film "The Lady in White". (Is she a ghost? Is she a madwoman? Oh wait – there's one of each.) The spirit was reliving its death, as some ghosts apparently did if the demise was a particularly nasty one. But what about that fire going on outside? It was presumably just the ghost of an event from forty-odd years ago – but did that necessarily mean it was harmless to Garrett?

"Holy crap!" he shouted out in surprise as the ceiling above him started to give way. He reflexively shut his eyes against the plaster raining down upon him and wrenched his chair as far away from the danger zone as he could.

"Garrett!" a familiar voice called down the stairs. "What are you doing down there?"

"Jo!" Garrett exclaimed, spinning his chair round so that he was facing the stairs. "Am I glad to see you! The ghost's just been reliving his death down here!"

"Not his death," Jo corrected him, making her way down the metal staircase. "Just his crippling injuries. He committed suicide a fortnight later."

"Nasty," Garrett remarked. "I take it the ceiling fell on him."

"Disfigured him and stopped him from ever playing the guitar again."

"Poor kid. I wonder if he has to go through this every day."

Jo shook her head and said, "He's only here one weekend every year."

"Ah! That's where you're wrong," Garrett contradicted her. "A cleaning lady told me he hangs out in the basement the rest of the year. But it's only this weekend that he tries to kill anybody."

"Oh. Ok. I came here looking for you," Jo told him, taking the handles of Garrett's chair and dragging him backwards towards the stairs. "But I also came to talk to the manager. Oscar thinks we ought to try and make sure he gets his just deserts."

"Oscar would," Garrett remarked.

"Are you ok?" Jo asked, once they were safely out of the basement.

"Sure," Garrett replied breezily. "This kind of thing happens to me every day."

"Yuh-huh," Jo returned dryly. "Not to me, though. It won't surprise you to learn that this isn't quite what I was expecting."

"So what were you expecting?" Garrett was curious to know.

"I don't know," shrugged Jo. "You and me eating hot dogs in the park and screaming at teenage rockers, I suppose."

"I don't tend to scream at these things."

"Oh, I do. I can scream myself hoarse when I get going. But anyway, let's not worry about that now. With any luck this whole thing will be wrapped up sometime tomorrow. We called your Janine. She's going to send a team over."

"A team. Great," Garrett enthused. "A few extra pairs of hand couldn't hurt – and we could definitely use some equipment. Wonder who it'll be? Not Dr. Venkman – that much we can be sure of. And Kylie won't want to leave Conchita and Rose."

"Conchita, huh?" Jo asked.

"Yeah, well," Garrett shrugged. "The dad's Hispanic and the mom's weird."

"Don't knock it – it's a pretty name."

"She's a pretty girl. She's only three, so her mom wouldn't want to go too far even if it was just her. But there's a younger one too, and she's only a few months old."

"Aww – really?" gushed Jo. "I love babies."

Yikes, thought Garrett. Do you? That could cause problems down the line if we get an awful lot further.

Aloud he said, "Rose is pretty sweet, but boy is she moody. Hardly surprising, though, when you think who her parents are. I'll have to introduce you sometime. If you like babies, you'll love this one. She's all cute and fat – and she's got the kind of tan that most of us have to wait 'til summer for."

"She sounds lovely. Ah – there's Weiss's office." Jo pointed out the door directly in front of them. "Oh sh... shoot. When I volunteered to talk to him, I didn't even think about what I was going to say."

"Don't sweat it," Garrett said, turning his head to grin crookedly up at her. "Just leave all the talking to me."

Five minutes later...

"You knew there was a ghost, didn't you! DIDN'T YOU!"

"Ok! Maybe I did!" Weiss shouted angrily. "What are you gonna do about it?"

"I'll tell you what I'm gonna do!" Garrett yelled back. "I'm gonna sue your ass!"

"Guys, calm down," Jo intervened soothingly. "This isn't 'ER', Garrett. Now, Mr. Weiss – how about a compromise?"

"You mean like you guys get rid of the ghost for free and I don't have you arrested for harassment?" Weiss spat vehemently.

"Um... no," Jo returned calmly. "I mean like you agree to pay the Ghostbusters their standard fee to relieve you of your little ghost problem, and we don't put you out of business by spreading the word that this place is haunted."

"Smooth," Garrett smiled approvingly, once he and Jo were out of the youth hostel and making their way to the park (they figured they might as well enjoy the concert while they were waiting for their backup). "Maybe next time I should leave all the talking to you."

"I feel terrible," Jo fretted. "I've never blackmailed anybody before."

"That jerk deserves it."

"I suppose you're right. None of this is like me, though. If I keep spending time with you, am I going to get caught up in a lot of this kind of thing?"

"No way," Garrett answered at once. "We never even asked for your help on this as I recall. You could have stayed with my mom and dad or gone to the concert with Oscar's friends if you'd wanted."

"I'm not sure about that," Jo said warily. "They seem really nice and everything, but Ella still scares me a little bit. And besides – I came here to spend time with _you_."

"I did ask you to come here," Garrett was forced to admit. "I'm sorry. This isn't how I planned it. But I can't just do nothing about this."

"Of course you can't. It's fine. Gosh, wow – the crowd's all the way out here," Jo observed, as they were approaching the outskirts of the park.

"I told you it was fun coming here," Garrett returned. "People love it. Hey, look – there's one of the old complaining ladies." He tilted his head towards an old dear in specs and a headscarf. "Mrs. James. She hates it."

"Come on, Garrett, she's old," reasoned Jo. "Amplifiers probably hadn't even been invented in her day – never mind ones that size."

"But she's stone-deaf," Garrett argued. "Well – without her hearing aid she is. She should just turn it off – like she does when she doesn't want to listen to her neighbour complaining about the apple tree growing over the fence."

"You don't like it here much, do you," Jo smiled wryly. She could hardly fail to notice Garrett's scathing tone of voice.

"I like it ok," he shrugged. "It's home. But these people just don't seem to realise they're living in New York. My mom always used to mollycoddle me and she only let me be friends with the old dears. Mrs. James has been old for as long as I've known her, which is more than twenty years. I just had to get out. At home I'm burdened with this label that's been attached to me ever since the first time somebody said, 'Hold on – he doesn't ever move his legs.' But when I moved to Manhattan I got to meet all new people and let them get to know me for who I really am."

"Yeah," Jo smiled fondly. "There'll always be prejudice, but two words from you and the wheelchair just pales into obscurity. You're really something else."

This was another one of those moments when Garrett wanted to kiss her. Damn. Why could they never occur when she was a little bit nearer his level? He looked up into her big brown eyes, willing her to come closer and instigate the kiss herself.

"Hi!"

"Hi Jess," Jo smiled warmly.

Piss off, thought Garrett. Aloud he said, "Hey. You're not on your own, are you?"

"I was with Oscar until some bimbo in hot pants started chatting him up," replied Jessica. "So how'd it go?"

"JESS!" a familiar voice interrupted them – and a moment later Oscar ran panting out of the crowd. "What the hell do you think you're doing? We're in a park full of strangers! Don't wander off!"

"Don't sweat it," Jessica returned calmly. "I was with these guys."

"Oh." Oscar's gaze fell upon Garrett and Jo. "Well – you have to tell me if you're going off with somebody else. I was worried sick!"

"That's sweet of you," Jessica smiled sarcastically. "What about your girlfriend? Was she worried sick too?"

"I was doing my level best to get rid of her, Jess."

"Why? What was wrong with her?"

"Ditz."

"She wasn't this mystery woman of yours back home, you mean," Jessica said slyly. Then, turning to Garrett, she asked, "Who is she?"

"How should I know?" Garrett returned coolly.

"At least give me a clue," Jessica begged her brother. "Is she short or tall? Blond or dark?"

"Black or white?" Garrett put in, shooting an insolent look at Oscar.

"I'll tell you what she is: not interested!" Oscar snapped irritably. "So this whole conversation is pointless. Now let's just drop it, ok?"

"Ok, Oscar," Jessica smiled serenely. "If you really want me to I'll drop it... for now."

x x x

They were just going to have to do without the Ecto-1 in Manhattan for a while. It arrived in Brooklyn early on Sunday morning – along with Eduardo Rivera and Roland Jackson, who was driving.

"Why do you keep sighing?" Eduardo demanded irritably, after several minutes of sitting in silence.

"I just don't like lying to Dr. and Mrs. Venkman," Roland replied forlornly.

"You won't be lying," Eduardo returned scathingly. "You're just not going to tell them their son was nearly killed by an embittered ghost."

"I still don't like it," Roland persisted.

"Yeah? Well, I don't like leaving my kids for the day," Eduardo told his companion cuttingly. "We all gotta do things we don't like. Hey – that could be a youth hostel."

"Kinda looks like the Bates Motel," Roland remarked, pulling into the car park outside the four-storey building. "Only taller."

"Yeah. And Oscar got attacked in the shower. Freaky."

"Speak of the devil..."

Oscar was approaching the Ecto-1 with an acoustic guitar in his hand and a welcoming smile on his face. As Roland and Eduardo climbed out of the car he told them, "Garrett's waiting for you inside. I left Jess at his mom and dad's place with Jo, but Garrett insisted I come along in case I'm needed."

"Needed how?" Roland wanted to know.

"Oh, you know." Oscar slightly elevated the hand that was holding the guitar and sang quietly, "Come to me; you are not alone..." ("Candy" by Ash, released in two-thousand-and-one: a softer song for the more flexible rocker.)

"I see," Roland nodded solemnly, taking his and Garrett's equipment out of the back of the car. "Right. Better get in there."

"I love that song," Eduardo told Oscar, as they followed Roland into the building.

"What – 'Candy'? Really?" asked Oscar.

"Yeah. It was a great year."

"I think you and Kylie must be cosmically linked to Ash," mused Oscar. "You got together the year they dissolved and then your first child was born the year they made their comeback."

"Of course," Eduardo said sarcastically. "Everything revolves around rock music."

"That's certainly true in this place," Garrett cut in, pulling up beside Oscar and the two new arrivals. "Oscar – Jenna tells me that everybody who hasn't already gone home went to the concert and hardly anybody spent the night here."

"Yeah – the park was packed all night," Oscar agreed. "None of my lot came back here. Hey – Jess wasn't any trouble last night, was she?"

"Trouble?" Garrett repeated dryly, accepting his equipment from Roland. "Well, not last night, no. Only in the morning. Between them she and Jo ate practically everything in our fridge. But anyway – we need to find this ghost. Jenna also told me there was an attack last night. A drummer's ponytail was burnt off."

"O-oh!" Oscar reached up and wrapped his hand protectively around his own smooth tail of black hair. "I do not want to do this."

"Relax, kid," Garrett smiled reassuringly. "We won't let anything happen to you or your hair. C'mon – let's not waste time. Sing for Guy, Oscar."

Taking a deep breath, Oscar lifted his guitar into both hands and started to strum on it expertly, the music flawless despite the slight shaking of his hands. The three Ghostbusters were impressed. Roland had never quite got the hang of playing the violin; and Eduardo couldn't even fathom the kind of dedication it must take to get that good at something.

"Ca-andy..." Oscar decided to stick with the song that had come to him minutes before – since he was unable to pick a favourite Mood Slime original. "Such a joy to me... Inner city nights, I cannot sleep..."

"He's very good, isn't he," Roland murmured to Garrett and Eduardo.

"Yes. Very. But where's this ghost?" Eduardo wanted to know.

"Don't you know it's a-all right to be alone..."

"Right there!" Garrett exclaimed, as the tortured spirit of Guy Blake suddenly materialised behind Oscar, grinning inanely and waving his flaming guitar threateningly over his would-be victim's head. "Oscar – move!"

Oscar ducked the rapidly descending guitar in the nick of time and ran for the feeble shelter offered by Garrett's wheelchair. Guy's glowing green eyes remained focussed on Oscar as the ghost stalked after him, humming quietly to itself.

"This thing is seriously scary," Eduardo remarked.

"Not for much longer," Garrett asserted, readying his proton gun. "On three."

"THREE!"

Three powerful proton streams locked onto Guy and he screamed. He threw his arms into the air and his blazing guitar went flying – unfortunately landing near a full waste paper basket.

"Whoa!" Oscar exclaimed, dropping his own guitar and running to whisk the small bin out of the flames' reach. "You'd do well not to burn this place down, guys!" he called over the noise of the proton fire. "Weiss is looking for any excuse to sue!"

"Hold on!" Garrett shouted, addressing Roland who had the trap. He then decreased the power of his fire, signalled to Oscar to move back and finally caught the guitar in his proton stream.

"Ok, Roland! Now!" Garrett commanded.

They all four looked away as both Guy and his guitar were sucked into the trap in a blaze of light. Then came the usual silence while everyone ascertained whether they could relax, or whether something had gone horribly wrong and there was yet more work to be done.

"Ok, great," Garrett said at last. "Now then – where's that Weiss bastard? I'm going to charge him."

But Garrett was prompted to stay a little longer and watch when Jenna Lannon suddenly burst out of the small office behind the reception desk and ran speedily towards Oscar.

"Oh, you did it!" she cried ecstatically, throwing her arms around Oscar's neck and hugging him tightly. "You wonderful, wonderful man!"

"Um... I _am _only sixteen, you know," Oscar told her quietly.

"Age is just a number!" Jenna exclaimed. "You sing with all the passion of the most worldly of men! I knew you would! I knew you'd sing like an angel!"

"So that's Oscar's type," Eduardo smirked. "A frumpy older woman with a dull desk-job. She's probably a real looker behind her glasses."

"Not so much," Garrett opined.

"Oscar doesn't look that interested to me," Roland remarked, apparently taking Eduardo's humoured observation seriously.

"Ha," Garrett muttered. "Oh Roland. If only you knew..."

"What was that, Garrett?" Roland asked politely.

"Nothing," Garrett replied innocently. "What time is it?"

"Um..." Eduardo glanced at his watch. "Getting on for nine thirty."

"Wow. Hours to kill before Oscar's due on stage," observed Garrett. "Do you guys want to save him from the slutty receptionist and then go get a hotdog?"

x x x

Oscar had never felt so good in his life. He could be kissing Amy Jackson to Red Hot Chili Peppers and he probably wouldn't feel this good. He was up on stage, singing to his own composition about how much Danny – the song's lyricist – liked to kiss guys with tongue piercings (the third person pronouns in the song having been suitably altered to fit Oscar's own... preferences).

"I can taste the metal in her mouth;

She says I'll find more further south..."

Where did Danny come up with this stuff? Oscar always had to search very hard within himself before he could find the nerve to sing it. It was encouraging, though, that the youth of Brooklyn seemed to be enjoying it.

Somewhere out in the crowd, Jessica was jumping up and down on her toes and screaming her encouragement to her brother. Oscar probably couldn't distinguish hers from all of the other voices in the boisterous crowd – but Roland, standing just to her right, could hear her only too well. Truth be told he wasn't much enjoying any of the noises he was hearing – but for some reason his youngest sister had insisted that he attend the concert and then tell her all about Oscar's performance when he got home.

"Hey!" Eduardo tapped Jessica on the shoulder and then shouted next to her ear, "This song is awesome!"

"Yeah – we all know you're into weird chicks and body piercing!" Jessica shouted back. "But this is why they stand out! Who else has ever written a song about that?"

"Where did Garrett and Jo disappear to?" Roland wanted to know.

"Have they gone? It's about time!" Jessica yelled right into his ear. "Good thing you guys were here to baby-sit me or they might never have gotten round to it!"

As it happened, Garrett and Jo weren't far away. They were just outside the park, having moved away from the crowd when Garrett's claustrophobia started to set in and he'd insisted that Jo get out of the heat for a while.

"Thanks," she said sarcastically, when "Metal-Mouth" was no more than a buzz in the background. "It's always a mistake for us women to stand in large crowds. I really thought I was about to faint."

"Well... maybe I was starting to feel the heat too," Garrett mumbled sheepishly.

"You? Feel the heat?" Jo went on in the same acerbic tone. "But don't you like it? You're an adrenaline junkie – and a tough guy to boot. Don't worry – I know you were just trying to look after me."

"You don't need looking after," Garrett smiled crookedly. "That's one of the things I like about you. And I wanted to thank you for helping out with that ghost... again."

"I didn't do much."

"But you didn't have to do anything. The way you blackmailed Weiss – that was so cool! I never had so much fun on a case before."

"Actually I had a pretty good time too despite myself," Jo confessed. "I had hoped to be able to get to know you outside of work, but I suppose that's twice as hard with you working two jobs."

"Plenty of time," Garrett smiled at her.

"Yeah," Jo smiled back. "I suppose I should thank you too – for bringing me here, I mean. You were right: it would have been a stupid idea to go rock climbing."

"Don't sweat it. We all have stupid ideas from time to time," Garrett reassured her.

"Yeah," Jo nodded slowly, pursing her lips in thought. "I've just had another idea. I wonder if that's stupid too."

"What is it?" asked Garrett.

Jo shook her head and smiled shyly, "Never mind. I think I'd better just try it and see what happens."

For all that he'd fantasised about this moment since arriving in Brooklyn, Garrett was taken by surprise when Jo leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. It was pretty quick – much too quick, in fact – but it certainly seemed like she meant it.

"Sorry," Jo mumbled sheepishly, after an awkward silence. "I'm not usually so forward."

"Oh – don't apologise," Garrett said hastily. "I think that was a very good idea. In fact to be perfectly honest with you, I've been wanting to do that all weekend."

"Really?"

"You bet."

"Well, just for the record, I've been wanting to do it ever since you got me walking again."

"Oh." Garrett pulled face. "We wasted quite a bit of time, then."

"Never mind," Jo smiled warmly. "There's still plenty of that left. Ready to go back to the concert?"

"Sure."

"Want me to push?"

"Uh... no thanks." Garrett gabbed the wheels at his sides and levered himself forwards. "I was just humouring you when I let you push me away from that crowd. I'll do it."

THE END


End file.
